


To Dust Or To Gold

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl



Series: Froger Week [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha Brian, Alpha Roger Taylor (Queen), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Beta John Deacon, Bonding, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Does Roger want to see Freddie belly dance? Yes yes he does, Don't get your hopes up lads it's not graphic, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Froger Week, Froger Week 2019, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Knotting, M/M, Michael Is Not A Good King, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Omega Discrimination, Omega Freddie Mercury, Omega Verse, Past Violence, Post-Coital Cuddling, Princes & Princesses, Rimming, Roger likes his fiance and is not happy about it, Royalty, Strangers to Lovers, That's not a tag I ever thought I'd use, This is so not my forte but I gotta practice somehow, Wedding Night, can you blame him?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokkas_First_Fangirl/pseuds/Sokkas_First_Fangirl
Summary: As a Prince, Roger's always known he'd face an arranged marriage. That doesn't mean he has to like it- but to his own frustration, he does like his fiance. That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. But maybe he is. Just maybe.As an Omega, Prince Freddie's always known he'd be sold to the highest bidder. To his surprise (and relief) his fiance seems kind. He even seems to find Freddie's outbursts funny. For the first time in his life, he's allowed to come and go as he pleases.When it comes to the wedding night, it's a bit of a coin-toss as to who's the most nervous.OR: Roger is catching feelings and is Not Happy- except he kind of is. Freddie's just excited to be outside for once. Wedding nights can be awkward, but Roger's determined to put Freddie's fears to rest.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Brian May & Tim Staffell & Roger Taylor, Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, Jim Beach & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Series: Froger Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538959
Comments: 32
Kudos: 96





	To Dust Or To Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting a new job on Monday, so I'm trying to get as much writing done as I can in the meantime. This was for the prompt "Taking virginity" and KIND OF for the "Aftercare" prompt too, but...Kind of brushes over that? There's lots of cuddles anyway. 
> 
> This is also based on a WIP I have saved in my docs 😂 Anyway, let's get going.

**June 15th, The Kingdom of Valeria, Aureum Palace, Strona City…**

Roger had kicked up an unholy fuss; he’d broken vases, he’d screamed, he’d threatened, but this wedding was going ahead. King Michael had taken it into his head that they needed Xerxes as allies. But they couldn’t just sign a treaty, no, seven heavens forbid. Instead, they’d agreed that Roger was to marry Prince Farrokh Bulsara, the sole Omega of the House of Bulsara.

“It’s bullshit!” Roger had raged. When his father struck him, Roger hit back, earning himself a bloody nose in the process. It was worth it: he’d managed to give Michael a black eye.

“I hear he’s a perfectly sweet boy,” Winifred offered. 

Lord Prenter said he heard that Prince Farrokh was hideous, stupid and disfigured, with such misshapen teeth that he couldn’t close his mouth. “That’s why he’s kept in his rooms,” Paul said with a smirk.

“That’s the custom in Xerxes,” Brian said tiredly. “Royal Omegas are kept nearly isolated.”

That sounded like a crap deal to Roger. He was an Alpha, he was allowed out, he was allowed to joust and go riding, he could attend balls and banquets without being veiled. He was allowed to sit on his throne, he wasn’t expected to kneel on the floor. He could speak up when he wanted, he wasn’t ignored.

But sympathy wouldn’t make him want to marry Farrokh.

“He might not want to marry you either,” Deacy pointed out.

“Cheers, Deacy,” Roger said.

“Come on, Rog, have a heart; he has to leave his whole country behind, your father expects him to change his religion, he has to leave his family...At least you get to stay here.”

Roger shrugged uncomfortably. Truth be told, he _did_ feel sympathy for the Prince. But that was all. It wouldn’t change his mind about marrying a stranger, about bonding with a stranger. Gods, the priests preached that bonding was sacred, one of the most intimate and special occasions for a couple- how could they preach that, then expect Roger to bond with a boy he’d never met? He hadn’t even been given a portrait of him.

“He’ll turn eighteen the day after the wedding,” Winifred said. “I hear he has a beautiful singing voice; the ambassador tells me that he enjoys art and music.”

“And what does he look like?” Roger asked impatiently.

“The ambassador said he’s quite petite. Dainty, he said. He’s always veiled in public though, so he couldn’t really make his face out.” Winifred offered him a rueful smile. “Pay no attention to Paul, dearie, the Prince isn’t disfigured.”

Even if he was, the wedding would go ahead, no matter what Roger felt. No matter what Farrokh felt.

“I won’t do it,” Roger vowed on the way back to his rooms. “I won’t.”

“You keep saying that,” Brian said. “At least wait and see what he’s like.”

Fat chance. Roger wasn’t marrying some stranger.

  
**August 20th…**

Roger knew about Xerxes; he knew how Omegas were treated over there. They were little better than slaves, they had no real rights to speak of. They were expected to sit still and silent, to speak only when spoken to. They were expected to be virginal little angels, sweet, obedient and submissive.

The reports about Farrokh, therefore, came as a surprise.

As soon as he landed on Valerian soil, there came reports of him removing his veil, of refusing to sit in his palanquin and riding his horse instead. He was expected to stay in any rooms assigned to him; instead, he was spotted on the balconies, waving to the people below. He was expected to stay silent, to let the Xerxian ambassador do the talking for him, but no. Farrokh spoke to the lords and dignitaries himself, laughing at their jokes and happily accepting their offers to dance.

“Sounds like a little rebel,” Clare said approvingly. “Good for him.”

“It’s a smart move,” Brian said.

“How so?” Roger asked, reading over Miami’s report for the third time.

“He’s letting the people see him. He’s letting them get to know him. He’s showing them that he’s approachable, that he’s willing to learn our customs.” Brian shrugged, seemingly blase. “It’ll endear him to the public, not to mention all the lords dealing with him.”

“Or he could just be excited to be allowed to talk for once,” Deacy said dryly. Brian didn’t look convinced.

Roger looked at Miami’s letter again, wondering about it all. Was it all some political move on Farrokh’s part? Or was Deacy right? Maybe the Prince was just excited to have some freedom.

He had four more days until Farrokh arrived in the capital. Preparations for the celebrations were nearly complete. 

Most of Miami’s letter was formal, as was only expected of a high-ranking member of the king’s council, but he was also Roger’s friend, so the post-script was more informal.

_I truly think you’ll like him Roger. He’s sweet and clever, much more clever than he’s given credit for. He’ll make a wonderful Queen, the people already love him._

A wonderful Queen...He didn’t want to think about it. Truth be told, he looked forward to the day that Michael was dead and buried, and Roger, his family and his people, were free of him. He looked forward to standing over that brute’s grave, the crown on his head. But he didn’t want to imagine a stranger by his side; he couldn’t picture this unknown Prince by his side at all.

“Maybe he does want to marry Roger after all,” he’d overheard Deacy say to Veronica last night. “It’s a chance for freedom.”

Valeria didn’t exactly offer Omegas equal treatment- far from it, and Roger had never understood_ why_\- but they weren’t kept in seclusion. Somehow, the idea that Farrokh would want to marry him, just made Roger feel worse.

  
**August 24th…**

The day of Farrokh’s official arrival dawned bright and sunny; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Roger was dressed in his best, a new suit of blue silk, lined with silver and white velvet, studded all around with diamonds and pearls. His boots laced to the knee, and Deacy placed a ring on every one of his fingers, and clasped a diamond chain around his neck. Tim got to work on Roger’s hair, plaiting it and pinning it into a knot at the nape of his neck. Last of all came the diamond and pearl coronet.

“You look good,” Brian said from his place on the end of the bed. He was in full uniform, his sword sheathed at his hip. 

Deacy stepped back with a smile. It was his last day serving Roger personally; after this, he would be serving Prince Farrokh.

Roger examined himself in the mirror. Truthfully, he was pleased with what he saw. He wouldn’t sell himself short, he knew he was handsome; he’d used that fact to his advantage more than once. If this was any other day, a ball of a festival, he’d put a smile on his face, thank the boys for their work, and be on his merry way.

As it was, he sighed and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Deacy grabbed the engagement gift for Farrokh, Tim straightened his tunic, and Brian followed right at Roger’s heels.

He couldn’t shake the trepidation. He wanted to continue raging, but by now he was worn out. By now, he was nervous. He didn’t want to marry Farrokh. He didn’t see why he _should,_ why he had to. It all seemed so stupid and unnecessary, but it seemed like he was the only one who thought so.

  
Roger joined his family on the palace steps. For once, the gates were thrown wide open. The flag of Valeria- a snarling white lion on a sky-blue field- hung from the flagpoles, banners of the flag and royal crest hung from the windows. There were streamers everywhere, and unlit lanterns, as if this really was a festival. Roger could dimly hear the entertainments taking place in the city square; the singers, the bands, the dancers, the puppet shows and masquerades, and the gods knew there was plenty of alcohol to go around. There was a firework show planned after the feast that night.

And finally, he could see the Xerxian entourage coming up the hill. A couple hundred people by the look of them, though of course, some of them were Valerian escorts.

“Come along, Roger,” Michael said briskly. Roger followed him down the steps, Deacy and Brian right behind him.

The huge palanquin was painted gold, carved with roses and lilies. Heavy red curtains blocked the occupants from view. Roger saw Miami jump off his horse, and beat the Xerxian ambassador to the palanquin. The curtains opened, and Miami offered his hand to someone inside.

And down stepped Prince Farrokh Bulsara. His shimmering gold veil brushed the ground, held in place by a thin band of gold and rubies. His kurta was calf-length, a rich burgundy colour; the sleeves were long and flowing, nearly covering his hands entirely. He smiled up at Miami (mouth _closed,_ thank you very much, Prenter), and glanced at Roger. His smile faltered, and as Roger made his way forward, Farrokh knelt, head bowed.

Not surprising. That was one custom that Valeria and Xerxes had in common.

It still rubbed him the wrong way. Where was the laughing, vivacious boy that Miami had described?

Biting back a sigh, Roger held his hand out. Farrokh glanced up at him through his eyelashes, and- well. He was a sight to behold. Petite, as he’d been told, a skinny slip of a boy. A few strands of wavy black hair framed his face; he had high cheekbones, full red lips, smooth golden-brown skin, but it was his eyes that grabbed Roger’s attention: big and brown, shy and sweet.

“Welcome to Valeria,” he said, raising Farrokh to his feet.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Farrokh said quietly. He had an obvious overbite, but it was hardly the deformity that Prenter had insisted it was. Knowing Prenter and his weakness for pretty Omegas, he was eating his words.

Farrokh smiled again when Roger gestured Deacy forward; his shy smile turned into a grin (which he immediately tried to hide) when Deacy presented him with the silver and gold music box. He instantly opened it, his eyes softening as a traditional Xerxian tune began to play.

“Well, this makes my gift look rather dull,” he said apologetically, but Roger couldn’t fight back a smile when he was given a golden lion pendant with ruby eyes, and a matching lion-head brooch.

He saw the anxiety in Farrokh’s eyes and couldn’t stop himself; “Thank you, Prince Farrokh.”

Farrokh tilted his head like a curious little bird. “Freddie,” he said, to Roger’s confusion. He smiled again, pointing at himself. “I prefer Freddie.”

The Xerxian ambassador, a stocky man in his fifties named Javad, his hair covered by a beautiful purple, red and gold turban, pushed his way forward. “Eyes on the ground, Highness,” Roger heard him hiss. “Modesty, first and foremost.”

Freddie frowned at the man, but lowered his eyes. When Javad wasn’t looking, Freddie stuck his tongue out at his back. He caught Roger’s amused gaze and froze, looking suddenly terrified.

“I don’t like him either,” Roger said, and Freddie lit up again. As Javad spoke with King Michael, Freddie edged forward to quietly say, “He fusses worse than my mother, darling.” He smiled at Deacy, who appeared almost dazzled.

“I’m John Deacon,” he blurted out. It was times like this that Roger was abruptly reminded that John was only fifteen. “I’ll be one of your servants.”

“Lovely,” Freddie said with a smile. “You can help me burn all these stupid veils.”

Brian grinned in approval, but Deacy let out a startled laugh, drawing Javad and Michael’s attention. The King and the ambassador both glared, but Miami nodded approvingly. He looked at Roger, and his gaze seemed to scream _I told you so. _

“Let’s continue this discussion inside,” Michael said, eyeing Freddie with a frown. Freddie looked at him, all innocence. Grinning, Roger gave into the impulse to offer Freddie his arm. Freddie took it, looking up at him through his eyelashes; he looked curious, a little nervous, but he seemed genuinely excited as he looked around.

“Welcome to Aureum Palace, my dear,” Winifred said when they reached her. She was downright glowing with approval, smiling sweetly. 

They were brought straight to the Great Hall for lunch; it wasn’t quite a feast, that was for tonight. There were three courses- “Start small,” Michael said- and entertainment in the form of the court fools. Freddie blinked at them in surprise, smiling uncertainly.

“Do you have fools in Xerxes, Your Highness?” Brian asked.

Freddie shook his head, still looking at the two men bemusedly. “No,” he said. “We have dancers, acrobats...That sort of thing.”

“I wish we had acrobats,” Brian said. “We’ve heard all of Arthur and Richard’s jokes by now.”

Frankly, Roger wasn’t really sure what to say, because as the lunch continued, he saw that Miami had told the truth. Freddie was kind, and funny, and clever. He spoke his mind, though he often darted nervous glances in Roger’s direction. He poked at the food (all of it Valerian), but whenever he caught Javad’s gaze, he scowled.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” Brian whispered, and it occurred to Roger that _he_ should surely be the one asking that.

“Just a little tired,” Freddie said airily. 

Roger would have said something, honestly, but he caught Prenter’s eyes and nearly laughed at the look of sheer jealousy on the older Alpha’s face. Roger smiled innocently, delighting in Prenter’s red face, and turned back to Freddie.

“So, I hear you rode on your own horse?”

Evidently it was the wrong thing to say, because Freddie suddenly looked petrified. “I- should I not have? Javad said you’d be angry, but Miami assured me you wouldn’t mind, I-”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down,” Roger said. He was honestly taken aback. “I don’t mind, why would I?”

“Well, I...I was showing off…”

“Hardly,” Roger scoffed.

“You’re sitting with the King of Showing Off,” Brian said solemnly. “You’ve seen nothing yet, but just you wait, he’ll drive you mad.”

“Thanks Brian,” Roger said.

Freddie only looked at him, guarded and tense. “So...I can go riding?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I don’t have to stay in my rooms all day?” He looked so heartbreakingly hopeful that Roger couldn’t help but soften a little.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not at all.”

From the way Freddie lit up, you’d swear he’d just been given something priceless. He grinned, pressing his hands over his mouth, just utterly beaming. 

Slowly, cautiously, Roger took one of his hands, lowering it from his mouth. Freddie’s smile dropped, he looked utterly baffled. He could hear shocked (and some angry) mutters in Xerxian from Freddie's entourage. And he didn’t care. Because no, he couldn’t say he wanted to _marry_ Freddie, but he _did_ want to get to know him. He didn’t seem like the other Omegas that Roger knew; certainly, he was quiet, but there was a fire there.

He was intrigued. 

  
Well then, Miami hadn’t lied to him. Roger really was lovely. Freddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised, an more than a little relieved. The rumours of Roger's temper had scared him.

All his life, he’d known he’d be sold off eventually. There’d been offers all his life, right from when he was eight. He was the only Omega in his family (the only one who hadn’t married into it anyway), and he was told, again and again, that he was a treasure, a precious jewel, a flower to be protected. He was told he was fragile, weak, and unable to think for himself. He was told he was stupid so often that he sometimes believed it himself.

But Roger asked him questions about music, about art; he asked about what books Freddie liked to read. When Freddie got cheeky with him, he laughed. He didn’t tell Freddie to shut up, or hit him; he didn’t even threaten to.

And he said Freddie could go outside. That he wouldn’t be locked in his apartments all day.

Freddie would have married him there and then, just for that.

Another shock was that he let Brian talk to him, and didn’t threaten Freddie for answering. 

Valeria was much colder than Xerxes; the food was bland, their architecture was odd, their clothes were strange, and Freddie had no idea what a joust was...But he was happy to be here all the same. He’d been terrified the whole boat ride, he’d been shaking in terror when they docked; he’d had no idea what to expect, but Javad, his grandfather, his father, uncles and cousins, all made Valeria sound like an uncivilised, violent place, where Omegas were raped in the streets in full view of everyone, where he’d be expected to do disgusting things in public... 

But no. Not a bit. Certainly, some of the pageants he’d seen made open references to sex, which set his attendants gaping; yes, he’d heard Alphas commenting on his arse, legs, and lips...But he hadn’t seen anything that he’d been warned about. He saw a few maids pinched, a few page boys slapped on the rear (and he’d lost his temper each time), but...But it wasn’t the living nightmare it had sounded like.

He could talk. He could go outside. He could sit on a chair, which was rare in itself. Roger, casual as anything, told him to order whatever clothes he wanted. 

And Roger seemed nice. A little standoffish perhaps, but friendly enough. At the very least, maybe they could be friends. Freddie wasn’t terrified of him, like he’d expected to be. 

Maybe he’d be okay here.

  
If Freddie had looked stunning that afternoon, the sight of him walking into dinner took Roger’s breath away.

He’d forgone the veil; instead, his long black hair was thrown over one shoulder in a thick plait, threaded through with rubies. His eyes were generously outlined in kohl; ruby earrings glittered in his ears, and a matching necklace bounced against his chest. His coat- grown?- trailed against the ground in multiple layers of shimmering silver. He wore tight red pants studded with diamonds at the hem. Once more, his sleeves nearly covered his hands, but Roger could hear bangles jingling as he moved.

_Damn it,_ Roger thought. _Shit._ And yet, as Freddie sat next to him, and his flowers-and-spices scent washed over him, a small part of him thought _Mine._ His instincts delighted in the fact that it was _his_ fiance drawing so many stares, even as they also argued that he should do something to show them all that Freddie was his, not theirs, and scare them off.

_Don’t be stupid,_ he told himself. _You don’t want him remember?_

But then Michael stood half-way through the feast, and announced that Prince Farrokh and his attendants had generously agreed to show them a traditional Xerxian dance.

“You can dance?” Roger blurted out, and could have bit his tongue for sounding so stupid. Isolated or not, Freddie was a prince, of course he knew how to dance.

Freddie glanced at him, and something in his eyes shifted. He smirked, tilting his head. “Of course, darling,” he said sweetly. And then, as he rose to his feet he leaned in to whisper, “I have to know how to dance for my husband’s pleasure.” He smiled, oh so innocent, and made his way to the floor. Roger was left dumbfounded, gaping after him.

And if he was doomed before, he knew he stood no chance now. Not when Freddie was dancing like that, light as air. He moved so quickly his feet were a blur, his hips swayed, and all eyes were on him. Just like that, the shy little Prince was gone, replaced by this energetic, _enchanting_ performer. Roger couldn’t look away.

“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be Roger,” he heard Ratty say breathlessly. He felt a stab of smug happiness, almost triumph. Freddie was drawing the gaze of everyone in the room, Alphas, Betas and Omegas alike, they were under a spell, and Roger was caught with them.

_Shit._ He was doomed. He was well and truly doomed.

The dance ended and the dancers sank to their knees. Freddie held his gaze and he lowered himself to the floor, that faint smirk on his face again.

And Roger raised his wine goblet in a salute, returning Freddie’s smirk with one of his own.

He was doomed. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  
The feast went better than Freddie would have expected. It was a mix of Valerian and Xerxian food (which Freddie was relieved to have); there were dancers, singers, fire-swallowers, magicians, actors, animal acts. The night wore on, and no one pulled him away, telling him to go to bed. When he laughed and clapped he wasn’t told to be silent, no one slapped his hands.

And as he happily munched on some _kolmi no patio,_ Roger leaned in to ask, “What in the seven hells is that?”

_“__Kolmi no patio,”_ Freddie said. Roger poked it with his fork, frowning. “It’s just shrimp, darling,” Freddie said. He nudged the plate towards Roger. “Do you want to try some?”

For a moment, Roger seemed to hesitate, but he nodded and took a bite. He immediately choked, flushing red. “_Gods,_ that’s hot,” he gasped, reaching for the water.

“Really?” Freddie asked, blinking. “I don’t think so.”

“How do you eat that?” 

“Well how do you eat _that?_” Freddie demanded, pointing his fork at Roger’s lamb. “It’s so bland! There’s no sauce or spice!”

“Touche,” Roger said. He glanced around, the sapphires in his coronet glittering in the lamplight. Slowly, he started to smile. “Do you want to see the gardens?” he asked. “The lanterns will all be lit now, it will look beautiful.”

Now it was Freddie’s turn to hesitate. But he nodded all the same. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll fetch one of my attendants.”

“I mean just you and I,” Roger said lowly. His smile was gentle. “If that’s okay with you?”

He shouldn’t, Freddie knew that. His Xerxian attendants would be shocked. If Javad caught them, he’d report back to Freddie’s family and he didn’t want to deal with dozens of furious letters. If he even attempted this back home, he’d be beaten.

But he wasn’t home. His family wasn’t here; no one in his entourage had the authority to cane him, or belt him, not even Javad.

It was his choice.

So Freddie smiled and took Roger’s hand. “Lead the way, darling.”

  
Roger was right, Freddie thought; the gardens looked beautiful. There were lanterns in the trees and some scaling the walls, there were some floating in the pond, and there were flowers scattered in the fountains, and flowers, bushes and trees as far as the eye could see. There were two gilded gates leading into yet more gardens, but they were locked.

“They’re my mother and sister’s private gardens,” Roger explained. Their arms were still linked, and Freddie couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. He’d just sneaked off alone with an Alpha. He was in an unrelated Alpha’s company, _alone._ Oh God, maybe this was a bad idea? What was he supposed to _do? _

But Roger didn’t jump on him; he didn’t push him to the ground, in fact his hands didn’t stray at all.

“So,” Roger said as the silence stretched on. “We’re expected to marry in eleven days.” 

“We are,” Freddie said quietly. He wondered if he dared to bring it up, but surely he had a right to know? He took a deep breath and said it; “I was told you broke a vase at the news. A few vases. And that you and your father physically fought.”

“I did,” Roger admitted. “And we did, though that’s nothing new. He hits everyone.” He shot Freddie a slightly concerned glance. “I wouldn’t ever hit you, I promise.”

Freddie nodded, but he knew it was likely. That was what Alphas _did,_ especially to Omegas.

“I was...angry,” Roger said slowly. Almost like he was nervous. “I didn’t want to get married at all, let alone to a stranger.” He sounded a bit embarrassed when he added, “Sorry. Nothing against you, I just...I was freaked out.”

“So was I,” Freddie said. “Everyone kept telling me that Omegas are...Are treated like whores over here. My cousins kept saying you’d take me in public, whenever you wanted. And my grandfather told me about the vases and the argument with your father, so I thought…” He shrugged, looking away. “Well, I thought you’d hit me. I thought you’d hate me.”

“I like you,” Roger said, to his surprise, so Freddie took a chance and turned back to him.

“I know I’m not much,” he said. “But I’m smarter than everyone says I am. I just- I won’t be useless.”

“You seem plenty clever to me,” Roger said, smiling. “Which reminds me- we don’t really know anything about each other. I know your hobbies, but...Oh, I don’t know, what’s your favourite colour?”

“Yellow,” Freddie said. He could feel himself smiling again. “And yours?”

“Blue,” Roger said, which made Freddie laugh.

“Typical!”

“Oh sod off, I can’t help that it’s on our flag, can I?” But Roger was grinning. “Favourite flower?”

“Freesias. Yellow freesias.” He didn’t expect Roger, as an Alpha, to have a favourite flower of all things, but he said, “I can’t decide between daffodils or tulips. Favourite food?”

“Cheese biscuits,” Freddie said. “They’re a type of snack back home, I don’t think you have them here. What’s yours?”

“Chocolate cake,” Roger answered with a grin. “I could eat a whole cake to myself.”

After that it was their favourite seasons; they both preferred summer. Favourite animal; Freddie chose cats of course, and Roger chose _sheep,_ of all things! 

Freddie asked who his best friend was. “Brian or Deacy,” Roger said. “I...I can’t really choose between them.” Suddenly, his whole demeanor softened. “They’re my brothers. Who’s yours?”

“I don’t think I have one,” Freddie said honestly. It was hard to make friends when he was alone so often. His servants were all far too formal and avoided talking to him unless necessary. “Kashmira maybe. My sister.” She came to see him every day, and constantly insisted that he should be allowed out and about whenever he wanted, even if it led her into trouble. “She always tried to look after me.”

It got a little deeper when they started discussing their fears; small things, like spiders, the dark or tight spaces, but there were deeper fears; death, letting people down, being alone. 

They sat on the edge of one of the fountains, towards the back of the gardens. Freddie trailed his fingers in the water, frowning at his reflection. He thought he looked a little different somehow, but he couldn’t pin it down.

“So, uh…” Roger cleared his throat; his cheeks looked a little pink. “Dancing for your husband’s pleasure?”

“Hm? Oh, of course, darling.” Freddie looked up at him, snapping out of his daze. “Dancing with scarves or veils, belly-dancing, that sort of thing. I wouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, only professional dancers are.” He shrugged, glancing back at the water. He didn’t exactly want to look at Roger if they were going to discuss this. “That’s meant to just- be for the bedroom.”

“Oh.” Roger’s voice cracked. “I, uh...I thought Omegas weren’t meant to know about that sort of thing in Xerxes?”

“I know how sex works,” Freddie said flatly. “I’m meant to please you.”

There was a moment’s silence before Roger quietly said, “I’m meant to please you too, you know.”

Freddie turned to look at him, not sure at all what he was talking about. Roger looked perfectly serious. He brushed a stray strand of Freddie’s hair back; Freddie tilted his head to the side, and he wasn’t quite sure how it happened, he just knew that Roger was kissing him.

He should have pushed him off, or shouted for help, Freddie knew that. But he didn’t. He relaxed into it, letting Roger pull him in. One of Roger’s hands tangled in his hair, the other squeezed his thigh, and Freddie was surprised to find that he liked it. He’d always thought kissing sounded odd, it certainly _looked_ odd, but it seemed to be one more lie he’d been told.

Eventually though, he had to pull back for air, gasping. His hands were on Roger’s chest, and he didn’t at all remember putting them there, but alright then. Roger was a little breathless himself, but damnably smug, grinning away.

“See what I mean?” he asked. The hand on Freddie’s thigh squeezed harder. “It’s not just about me.”

“Okay,” Freddie said, for lack of anything else to say.

Keeping eye-contact, Roger took one of Freddie’s hands and kissed his knuckles, before gently drawing him to his feet. “We’d better get back,” he said ruefully. “At least the fireworks will be soon.”

Freddie found that he’d actually much rather stay out here with Roger; he’d prefer to keep talking without hundreds of people watching and listening in. He wanted to see if he could get Roger to kiss him again.

But Roger did have a point.

Hand in hand, they made their way back inside.

  
**September 4th, Chapel of Saint Alois, Strona City…**

Roger’s suspicions had proven correct: he was doomed. Completely and utterly fucked. Because Freddie was sweet, and friendly; he was shy and funny, with a big heart; he was braver than one might guess, and clever. Add on that he was gorgeous, with his fluffy dark hair and big brown eyes, and Roger was a goner.

He wasn’t in love. He couldn’t be, after only a few days, but he was happy to say that they were friends; it was almost insane how well they got on together.

Roger liked him. A lot. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Freddie.

That didn’t stop him from being nervous. It was their wedding day. This was what the stupid peace treaty was built on. He didn’t want to think of Michael’s wrath if anything went wrong. And, if he was honest, he felt sick at the idea that Xerxes might demand Freddie back if something went wrong. Because (and he didn’t know how it happened so fast) he couldn’t stand the thought of Freddie- sweet, vibrant Freddie- being so stifled. 

Freddie had casually mentioned that he’d been beaten with a belt only two months ago; a young Omega girl had lost her hand, for the crime of “refusing her Alpha his marital rights.” Freddie had protested, loudly and viciously. His grandfather hadn’t been pleased.

The Bulsaras were starting to remind him too much of Michael for comfort.

Roger had seen Freddie work the crowds; he’d seen him charm people, left, right and centre. He saw the commoners fawn over him, he saw proud nobles defer to his opinions, as if he was the wisest boy in the world. Miami clearly adored him, Deacy seemed to be totally in awe of him. Someone like that didn’t belong in a locked room, in a corner or on his knees. He belonged on a throne.

Evidently, it was going to be a Valerian throne.

“Done!” Tim announced brightly, and Roger turned to look in the mirror. As was tradition, he was dressed in white: a white embroidered tunic and breeches, even white boots and a white cloak. His pale grey belt was studded with diamonds; his bracelets were of beaten silver, his rings were silver, embedded with diamonds and pearls. His crown was heavy, and he had to resist the urge to fiddle with it; it would ruin his hair otherwise.

“His Majesty, the King!” the guard at the door cried, and Michael marched in. He looked at Roger critically, eyes narrowed.

“You look well,” he said, almost with approval. He held his arm out. “Come along then.” As Roger reluctantly took his arm, Michael said, “Remember your duty. I don’t care if the Omega says no, or tries to push you away, you do your duty and get a baby in him, understand?”

_Rape your bride. What lovely advice._

Roger chose to keep his mouth shut.

_One day,_ he vowed. _One day, I’ll spit on your grave. One day soon._

  
The chapel was crowded, filled to the brim; there were crowds waiting outside. Roger stood on the dais, trying not to squirm. 

Then the music began, and he knew Freddie was here. He ignored protocol, and turned to watch him walk down the aisle.

_Holy shit._

He wore white, as was the Valerian tradition, but his clothing was clearly Xerxian. Unlike his previous clothes, the sleeves were now short, the neck more low-cut. White silk, with gold swirling patterns, rather like vines. His kurta, if it could be called that, trailed behind him in such a long train that Roger was surprised he didn’t trip on it. His sheer white veil was patterned with tiny diamonds in floral patterns, covering not just his hair, but most of his face; a gold and diamond coronet was fitted over the veil, and his hair flowed loose, tumbling just past his shoulders in waves. He kept to one more Xerxian tradition, and wore a garland of flowers around his neck.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck _fuck._ This wasn’t helping the attraction at all.

“Hello again,” Freddie said shyly as he reached him. 

“You look...Wow.”

Freddie’s smile widened at that, and they knelt on the embroidered cushions for the ceremony. Roger wondered what Freddie thought of it all; their faiths were so different. He believed in multiple gods, Freddie believed in one. He believed in the seven heavens and hells, Freddie believed that the souls of the damned were destroyed. But to do him credit, if he at all disagreed or found it strange, he didn’t let on. He looked up at the priest silently, nearly still as a statue- he kept wringing his hands, or clenching them.

But then, before he knew it, the priest was pronouncing them married; “You may kiss your bride,” he said, gesturing for them to stand. Roger once more ignored protocol, and took Freddie’s hands to help him up. Gently, he lifted the veil; Freddie’s eyes had been outlined with kohl again. Roger leaned in to kiss him as everyone applauded. Freddie’s flowers-and-spices scent washed over him, and this time, when his instincts said _Mine!_ he didn’t fight it.

“You look beautiful,” Roger told him when he finally pulled back. Freddie’s smile was a mix of embarrassed and pleased; his cheeks were faintly pink, but he looked at Roger and said, “You do too.”

  
They were all sent to change for the feast; Roger changed into a purple and gold affair, gladly abandoning the heavy crown. He wore most of his hair down, only pinning back some of it, and put on one of his favourite gold coronets.

Freddie’s hair was still loose, and he’d forgone a veil again; his hair was threaded through with tiny gold ornaments, and his servants had pressed a bindi between his eyes. He wore the Xerxian colours of red and gold, and Roger was amused to realise they matched.

As the music started, Roger held his hand out. “Shall we, Fred?”

Freddie grinned and took his hand. Roger led him onto the dance floor; his hands were soon on Freddie’s waist. He saw Javad frowning and resisted the urge to snarl at him. It was Freddie’s _wedding,_ he was the bride for fuck’s sake, and Roger was his husband- what offence could Javad possibly take with them dancing together?

No one else seemed offended; Winifred was beaming, tears in her eyes. Michael looked almost bored. Clare was dancing with a young knight, Deacy was with Veronica, and Brian was whispering in Chrissie’s ear. The only other person really _staring_ was Prenter, and Roger had no trouble snarling at him.

“Darling, are you okay?” Freddie asked worriedly. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you,” Roger reassured him. His grip tightened. “Freddie? Promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“Avoid Paul Prenter if you can. Never go off alone with him.”

Freddie glanced Prenter’s way, before looking back to Roger. He must have taken Roger seriously, because he didn’t laugh or brush him off. He nodded. “Of course, darling,” he said.

The dance ended. They could go to their table and let the toasts start, or they could have another dance. Roger raised an eyebrow and Freddie smirked.

“I think we can keep them waiting, Roggie.”

“I like the way you think, Fred,” Roger laughed. Just like that, Michael, Javad and Prenter were all forgotten.

  
Honestly, all worries were forgotten as they had to sit and listen to dreary toast after dreary toast. The speeches dragged on, the priest blessed them again, but thankfully the entertainments started. There were singers, dancers, bands, jugglers, acrobats, fire-swallowers, sword-swallowers, animals acts and magicians galore. It was one in the morning when King Michael, clearly quite drunk, stood and proclaimed it was time to put the young couple to bed.

Freddie tensed, his hand tightened on Roger’s. Roger only had time to quickly whisper, “It’s okay,” before his laughing and cheering friends whisked him away.

They undressed him in his room, brushing out his hair and helping him into his nightclothes and robe.

“Are you okay?” Brian asked.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Brimi,” Roger said; the answer surprised him. He hadn’t planned on saying that, not to anyone, not even Brian.

But it was the truth.

“You won’t,” Brian said with certainty. “Not you.”

He wondered about that as Brian and Tim escorted him to Freddie’s chambers. Because honestly, Roger was...Rather used to hurting people. That was what he did. He let people down. His lost his temper, he frightened people, he threw punches...He was just the promiscuous prince with the bad temper.

But he had no time to brood on it, because Tim was knocking on the doors to Freddie’s bed-chamber before he could get his bearings. Deacy answered the door; he kept it mostly closed, sliding out, ensuring none of them got a glimpse inside.

“Good luck, Rog,” he whispered, and left with the other two.

Taking a deep breath, Roger went in.

Not for the first time, the breath was knocked out of him. All of Freddie’s make-up and jewels were gone; he was only in a white silk and lace robe, so thin it was clinging to him. He took one look at Roger and blushed. He rose unsteadily from the edge of the bed and sank to his knees. His head was bowed, his hands were folded in his lap.

“Hey, no- Freddie, come here,” Roger said gently. He quickly went to him, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hands. “None of that. You don’t have to kneel like that. Not with me, okay?”

Freddie looked at him warily through the thick curtain of his hair, but he squeezed Roger’s hands and offered a shy smile. Roger helped him to his feet.

“Okay,” Roger said, slightly breathless. “Okay...Um…” There was something that had continued to nag at him since their first conversation in the gardens. “Freddie- what do you know about sex? I mean, what were you told?”

“I told you, I know how sex works.” There was a hint of impatience in Freddie’s voice, and he refused to make eye-contact. “Okay, I know the mechanics of it, Roggie. For the rest I just- I just do what you tell me.”

“And what about what you want?” Roger asked. “What if I told you to do something you didn’t want to do?”

“I’d have to do it,” Freddie said quietly, maybe even a little sadly. “That’s the law.”

“Maybe so,” Roger acknowledged. “But I don’t give a flying shit about the law, Freddie, I care about _you._ I don’t want to hurt you, or- or scare you, or something. Alright? You’re...Well, shit, you’re my _wife,_ I want to make sure you’re okay. We’ll just...We’ll take this slow, yeah?”

Shakily, Freddie nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you,” he added quietly. Their hands were still clasped. Reluctantly, Roger released him to shrug his robe off. He couldn’t help but smirk when, as he unbuttoned his shirt, Freddie stared with clear interest.

Cautiously, Roger’s hands went to the tie on Freddie’s robe. “Can I take this off?” he asked. “Is that okay?” Freddie nodded, keeping his eyes shut as Roger untied it, all but holding his breath as Roger pushed the robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He only had a thin pair of silken underwear on underneath, and he tensed as Roger’s hands rested on his hips.

He_ did_ relax when Roger kissed him though. He relaxed enough that, when Roger asked to remove the last of his clothing, he let him. He immediately looked mortified, terrified, and everything in between, going bright red as Roger looked at him.

“You’re beautiful,” Roger said again, leaning in to kiss him. “And I promise, if you want me to stop, I will. If you say no, or stop, at any point, I will.”

“Okay,” Freddie whispered. He let Roger lay him down, biting his lip as Roger tugged off the last of his own nightclothes. Roger smirked at him and he quickly looked away.

“Eh, you’re allowed look,” he laughed, leaning over him. “I’m your husband, who cares?”

At least that earned him a small laugh, though Freddie was still tense as hell. Roger’s thumb brushed over his neck, lingering where the bond mark would go.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I- yes,” Freddie said. “I think so.”

“Very convincing,” Roger said. His hand trailed down Freddie’s waist, lingering at his hip. “You’re sure?”

“I trust you,” Freddie said, his voice surprisingly steady, and Roger wasn’t sure why that made his chest tighten- but in a good way. It was oddly comforting to hear that.

“Thank you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. For a moment they were quiet. Roger was wondering just how to proceed with this, when Freddie asked, “What do you want to do, Rog?”

Just like that, he had his answer. He grinned, pushing Freddie’s legs apart, bending them at the knee.

“I want to prove my point,” he said. 

“What point?”

“That’s it not all about me.” And before Freddie could say anything else, Roger hitched Freddie’s legs over his shoulders and leaned down, his mouth right at Freddie’s entrance.

“Rog- _oh!_” 

Roger may have had a reputation for his temper, but he was also known for being promiscuous. He was damn well going to live up to that tonight. Introducing Freddie to the concept of rimming sounded like a good start to him.

“Oh, _God,_ I- Rog, _wait!_” Freddie tugged at his hair, and Roger pulled back.

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-No, I just- I...What are you _doing?_”

“Proving my point.” Roger made a show of shrugging. “D’you like it?” Because sure, Freddie was hard, he was wet, but that didn’t really guarantee anything. That could just be his body reacting.

But to his delight, Freddie nodded. This time, the Omega didn’t look away.

“Can I keep going?”

“Yes,” Freddie whispered; he returned Roger’s grin with a shy smile, but he let Roger continue. His hand went back to Roger’s hair, tugging as his back arched. Really, Roger would count that as a success in itself, but it wasn’t until Freddie came, screaming his name, that he finally pulled away with a smirk.

Freddie was catching his breath, his hair falling into his eyes, “What in God's name was that, Rog?” he asked.

“Well that’s what we call an orgasm.”

“Prat,” Freddie muttered, slapping his arm. “I know _that,_ I mean what was...whatever you were doing?”

“Rimming,” Roger said, shrugging. He grinned down at him. “I take it you liked that?”

Freddie hummed in response with a smile, nearly laughing.

“You okay to keep going?” Roger asked. Freddie nodded, pulling him down into a kiss.

“I’m fine, darling,” he said. “I promise.” He tilted his head, his hair fanning out on the pillow. “Should I do anything?”

It was an all too tempting offer, but Roger shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Just promise to tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

To his surprise, as he began to prepare Freddie, the Omega grabbed his free hand, squeezing tightly. He didn’t look in pain, but he did look nervous again.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just…” Freddie’s grip on his hand tightened. 

“Nervous?”

Freddie nodded, closing his eyes. “I’m fine, darling, I promise,” he murmured.

Slowly, Roger continued; one finger, then two, and soon Freddie was gasping, hips rolling. When he added a third and crooked them gently, Freddie cried out, spreading his legs.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked again. Freddie swore at him, gripping Roger’s hand so hard it hurt.

“If you stop, I swear to God, Roggie-”

“Okay, okay,” Roger laughed. “You’re alright.”

However, when he eventually pulled his fingers out they both tensed. The fear or hurting Freddie, or pressuring him, or scaring him (or all three) came rushing back. He suddenly looked tiny, lying under Roger like that, so easy to break.

“It’s okay,” Freddie said gently. “Rog, it’s fine.”

“And you’ll tell-”

“I’ll tell you stop if I need to,” Freddie promised. He smiled softly, leaning up to kiss him, and Roger gently began to push in. Freddie tensed up with a little gasp, but he relaxed when Roger kissed him again; he clung to Roger as he entered him inch by inch, his nails digging into Roger’s back- but then Roger was fully sheathed, both of them were gasping, and all Roger could think was _Oh God, holy shit,_ because this was actually _happening,_ he was actually fucking Freddie, his friend (his wife!), they had to _bond, holy fuck._

“Are you okay?” Freddie asked, which nearly set Roger off laughing at the irony of it all. Who was more frightened right now? Him or Freddie?

“I’m fine,” he said. He mostly meant it. “What about you? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“It hurts a little,” Freddie admitted. “Can we wait a minute?” Roger at least appreciated the honesty. He waited. He waited until Freddie took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue.

  
Freddie had realised quickly that Roger wasn’t like the other Alphas he knew. All his life, he’d been told that he’d be his Alpha’s property; he fully expected to end up with someone who’d treat him like a toy. Instead, Roger kept asking if he was okay, clearly holding himself back: he was going red with the effort, straining, gritting his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Roger breathed against his neck, and Freddie wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t _this,_ it was _good._ It stung, but that was soon forgotten, and he just clung to Roger, not wanting it to stop. His legs automatically wrapped around Roger’s waist, and he couldn’t have kept quiet if he wanted to. To his own surprise, he didn’t want to. As the pace picked up, as Roger’s fingers dug into his hips, Freddie was crying out, moaning Roger’s name.

He could feel his instincts screaming at him to submit. All part of the process. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tilted his head back and released the necessary pheromones; his scent was suddenly much stronger, nearly overwhelming, even to himself. Roger growled, thrusting even harder.

“You’re sure?” he asked gruffly.

Now or never. “Do it,” Freddie gasped out. Roger bit down where his neck joined his shoulders, and the knot began to swell. And, okay, Freddie wouldn’t lie, it _hurt,_ yet he wasn’t frightened like he thought he’d be; he still enjoyed it, clinging to Roger like his life depended on it. It was overwhelming, nothing had prepared him for this; it was so strange to realise that he and Roger were locked together, it was nearly overwhelming to know that his scent was permanently mixed with Roger’s now, until death did them part. Only an extremely powerful sorcerer could undo the bond now.

And then Roger’s hand wrapped around him, roughly jerking him off, and Freddie couldn’t stop his hips from jerking, trying to meet Roger’s thrusts as best he could, but as the knot continued to swell, he tipped over the edge again; he opened his mouth but no sound came out. He just closed his eyes and rode it out.

Roger kept thrusting until he couldn’t anymore; the knot reached its peak and he came with a low moan, his face still pressed against Freddie’s neck.

And, well, he couldn’t pull out. Not yet. Not for at least ten minutes. That was an odd thought.

“You alright, Freddie?” Roger asked; his voice was completely worn out, and he was shivering slightly.

Freddie wasn’t sure he had the strength to talk. He just nodded. When Roger flipped them over, he yelped, but gratefully lay his head on Roger’s chest, trying to get used to the knot and utterly failing. His hand went to the bond mark on his neck and he shivered. Roger kept running a hand through his hair, and Freddie relaxed.

“Are you okay?” Freddie asked. Roger chuckled, like he was surprised Freddie was even asking.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed, still playing with Freddie’s hair. “So…” His grin was outright cocky. “How was that, huh?”

Freddie slapped his chest, snickering. “Good,” he said. “It was good.” It had been a lot more than good, but Roger knew that.

  
Finally, Roger could pull out. Freddie winced when he did, and Roger lay him down gently. There was a bowl of water and a towel on the bedside table, and Roger used it to wash Freddie down, then himself. To his eyes, Freddie still looked a little dazed, but when he once more asked if Freddie was okay, Freddie flicked him on the forehead.

“You’re like a parrot,” he yawned, curling up against Roger’s side. “Repeating yourself.”

“Sorry,” Roger grinned, though he wasn’t really. He’d keep asking, he knew that much. His arms wrapped around Freddie, hugging him close. Freddie hummed happily, nearly purring, pressing his face against Roger’s neck. Absentmindedly, Roger kept tracing the bond mark. He was having a hard time looking away from it. Freddie kept shivering when he touched it.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” Freddie said, eyes closed. “It’s...I don’t know. It’s quite nice though, darling.”

Roger had to admit, he kind of liked how Freddie clung to him, protesting as he went to pull the heavy duvet over them. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said gently, stroking Freddie’s back. “Promise.”

He stayed like that even when Freddie fell asleep, just holding him close and trying to wrap his head around it all.

  
The next day, Roger awoke as the sun rose. To his surprise, Freddie was already awake, peering up at him through his tangled hair, still wrapped in his arms.

“Hey you,” Roger said, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “You feeling okay?”

“Still tired,” Freddie said with a rueful smile. “But I can’t sleep.” Shyly, he pushed Roger’s hair back, his smile widening. “I...Do you really think we can make this work, darling?”

Roger looked at him, at his tangled hair and shy smile, his kind eyes; he thought of how fast they’d clicked, he remembered watching Freddie charm everyone he met, and he grinned down at him. Because somehow, shockingly, this boy was his wife, his bonded Omega.

And somehow, he was sure they could do this.

“Yeah, Fred,” he said. “I think we’ll be great. And one more thing...”

"Yes, darling?"

"Happy birthday."

**Author's Note:**

> It's always been a headcanon of mine that words like "bride, wife, mother," etc, would have been more gender-neutral in Ye Olden Days or what have you, when it comes to my A/B/O 'verses, and that it would have changed around the late 1800s to the early 1900s; Freddie briefly mentions in "Slipping Through My Fingers" that a lot of people in India would insist on calling him the bride, if only to avoid confusion. 
> 
> This also takes place in an A/B/O where your dynamic is apparent at birth, rather than puberty; this Freddie has been very isolated and fed a pack of lies, but you just know he'll grow to be the loud, flirty Freddie we all know and love. Is Roger already smitten? Yes.
> 
> Thanks for indulging my bullshit 😂💕


End file.
